room. With a flurry of motion, I scooped up the papers and shoved them
 
 haphazardly in the desk drawer. “I don’t care what you’re up to, I’m not
 
 letting you dictate my life.”
 
 My gaze landed on the dozens of pictures I’d drawn of Jaxson. They were
 
 some of my best work. While the illustrations of the sorcerer were scribbled
 
 with desperate, frenetic energy, every detail of Jaxson’s face and body had
 
 been replicated with soft, meticulous strokes of the pencil. His strong jaw and
 
 handsome beard, his dark, wavy hair and radiant eyes. The powerful contours
 
 of his body.
 
 What had I been thinking?
 
 There was no way to forget the embarrassment and regret on his face after
 
 he’d kissed me in the woods. It still made my cheeks burn with shame and
 
 fury. I wa
 
 s, after all, just a dirty LaSalle. A sorceress with dark, tainted
 
 magic.
 
 He thought I was so insignificant that he’d cut me out of his investigation.
 
 Treated me like a pawn. Kept me on a need-to-know basis. So why the hell
 
 was I drawing pictures of that jerk and leaving them around the room?
 
 That was the million-dollar question.
 
 “You don’t get to dictate my life, either,” I murmured, snatching the
 
 jumbled sketches off the dresser and bedside table and shoving them in the
 
 drawer with the creepy sorcerer, face down. I slammed the drawer shut with a
 
 satisfying thunk. “Enjoy each other’s company, assholes.”
 
 Feeling slightly relieved at having completely and deftly rid myself of all
 
 my problems, I headed to the shower. I peeled off my sweat-soaked uniform
 
 and undies and dropped them on the mildly fragrant pile of clothes in the
 
 corner of the bathroom. I’d practiced three nights in a row and desperately
 
 needed to do laundry.
 
 A quick shower drained the last of my residual adrenaline, and soon after,
 
 I slipped naked between the sheets and fell asleep on the rickety old bed.